


We Are What You Say

by deathwailart



Series: Rhiannon Amell [12]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Discussions of ruling, Female Friendship, Gen, Masks, Or the performance of ruling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:14:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After all is said and done, a friendship between a hero and a queen is formed discussing how to rule and how they will be remembered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are What You Say

Rhiannon Amell slays an Archdemon, puts monarchs upon the throne and ends the fifth Blight in Ferelden. Anora Mac Tir (who will now be Anora Theirin anew) names her Hero of Ferelden and grants her the right for Kinloch Hold to govern itself and the Arling of Amaranthine as well as making it a place for the Grey Wardens to begin anew. The words may be delivered by Alistair but Rhiannon has spent a year with him and knows when he's parroting something. She has her own suspicions as to why Anora does not speak but the queen smiles at her and touches the small of her back lightly when they step out to greet the people together. Rhiannon knows more about kings and queens from the books, old books with crumbling spines that tell the stories of Calenhad; it's important that his blood is still there but Rhiannon knows exactly who will rule Ferelden. After all it's been the same person ruling since Cailan married.  
  
Rhiannon's exhausted but she knows she has a part to play and every single time she stands before anyone it's as someone hated. A Mage, dangerous and unpredictable, a Grey Warden, something entirely other that most Fereldans don't believe they need anymore. So she smiles, she shakes hands, she talks of her adventures and looks for Morrigan even if she knows she won't find her anywhere – she only hopes she made it out alright then feels foolish for worrying. Morrigan is Morrigan, she'll find her way come hell or high water and woe betide anyone who gets in her way. Everyone else is still around and her dog trails after her or stays by Sten's side being fed far too much rich food. And as much as Rhiannon is enjoying herself, because she is, relief is making her giddy and nothing seems to matter outside of the Blight being over and a civil war averted with monarchs upon the throne, she's tired, leaning more and more heavily against Zevran who has one eye on her at all times. It's when she's talking with Irving who has tears in his eyes at the opportunity she has handed to him that Anora approaches looking regal and composed but with a tightness around her eyes that Rhiannon feels in her tight shoulders and locked knees to keep herself upright.  
  
"I apologise for the intrusion but there are matters I must discuss with our hero before they slip my mind," Anora begins with a polished smile and her impeccable manners, "Grey Warden?"  
  
Sometimes Rhiannon forgets she's not in the tower anymore. Here, when someone asks a question of her, she can refuse. In the tower, if it was asked you had to go and do it or you had to give the answer they wanted. Here, or at least right now and for the past year, she'd been able to say no, to turn away, to voice an opinion and sometimes that still left her more giddy than it should.  
  
"Certainly," she replies and she's just a girl from a tower yet here she is linking arms with the queen of Ferelden.  
  
They don't make it to Anora's private chambers without interruption; the queen and the hero together is another opportunity to ask questions but both of them are used to delay and distractions so Rhiannon follows Anora's lead. Anora who artfully deflects and dodges without seeming as though she is pushing anyone aside as she carves a path to where it is quiet and they are alone, not even Erlina with them although Rhiannon _knows_ she's close by. She has a feeling she's far more than just a handmaiden, same as Eamon. Unlike Eamon though, she doubts it's a bad thing. It gives her time to think about what she wants to ask, how to phrase it so she sounds like she's going to be at least _decent_ at what Anora believes her ready for. Unfortunately she blurts it out instead and sounds more like a child panicking with new responsibilities.  
  
"I don't know anything about ruling," she says to Anora once they both have time away from the festivities, "I can command troops into battle and I can lead the Wardens but I don't know a damn thing about governance."  
  
"You'll hardly be alone, you'll have a seneschal to aid you and others to help guide your decisions. You have the proper instincts given what you achieved in defeating the Blight, there aren't many who could do what you did."  
  
"That's different," she argues, leaning across the table to refill both their glasses, "there was a Blight and a civil war, it was solving problems to get what I wanted-"  
  
"An awful lot of ruling is like that-"  
  
"But I can't just persuade and browbeat to get what I want when it comes to pacifying Banns can I?"  
  
"No. Grace and tact will be of the utmost importance too." Anora pauses and takes a sip of her wine, settling back more comfortably. They should be celebrating but Anora's father is dead and she is allowed to be in mourning and Rhiannon is still recovering from her injuries too so she's more than happy to be up here in a wing of the castle where the sounds of the festivities cannot reach her. "You're from the Circle of Magi, would I be correct in guessing that you're well read?"  
  
Rhiannon nods with a small smirk on her face. "There's not much else to do in the Circle outside of lessons. You read or you sneak off into the corner when the Templars aren't watching."  
  
That gets a startled laugh out of Anora and at Rhiannon's questioning look she explains: she was not expecting to be reminded of the days before her and Cailan's marriage when they had shared tutors they longed to escape. It hadn't mattered to them that they'd been unmarried – they'd been betrothed for as long as they could remember and it was the greatest game for such a long time, to run and find a quiet corner away from tutors, maids and parents. "Discretion will be important in that regard; they will look for any weakness, any way to judge you."  
  
"Always on display," Rhiannon says quietly, rolling her shoulders and wincing slightly before it disappears.  
  
"We're not Orlais but there will always be a certain degree of performance. You must present yourself as you wish to be seen, you want to appear strong and in command, you stand tall, shoulders back as though you're about to march into battle. And though it may chafe at you, sometimes being meek and mild if it plays to your advantage will serve you well." Rhiannon nods at Anora's words and realises that she's going to have to ask Leliana for lessons in how she should do this although she'll never be as good as Leliana is but perhaps better than she was during their time on the road. "You and your assassin...I cannot tell you what you do but I urge you again to be discrete. I knew about Cailan's affairs and dalliances," Anora continues and Rhiannon marvels at how little she shows and that it's probably the trust Rhiannon has earned already as well as exhaustion and grief that has her giving away what little she does; the slight tremor in her voice and an old pain in her eyes as she looks down and away. "There will be so much for them to judge you on. As far as politics is concerned, many still will see you as untried and untested – the Landsmeet proved you can speak but that was a dire time. You can command troops but can you command guards to help protect the people, can you govern well, decide the taxes, help to listen to cases. They will be out for themselves commonly, the Banns in Amaranthine are sworn to you as they were Howe and they might not take so kindly to you. Some – many – will care for their people but they will be pushing their own case. Being a Warden in Ferelden recalls the time of Sophia Dryden." At that, Rhiannon winces, remembering that particular encounter as well as how the person she loves now, who shares her bed and has a hold of her heart was once sent to end her life at Loghain's bidding with stories of how the Grey Wardens killed the king.  
  
There's a lull in the conversation where Rhiannon is expected to speak and yet she realises the dragon in the room they've managed to avoid mentioning in more direct terms.  
  
"I might be a hero," the word feels odd on her tongue, thinking that not much more than a year ago she was woken roughly in the night to take her Harrowing, not even a full member of the Circle a day before she left, "but I'm still a Mage." She can't make Anora understand what it's like to be a Mage in this world where men of Tevinter brought this curse upon the good, locked away not only for her own good but the good of the people of Thedas, this world where people see her stave and tense, where pious Sisters and Mothers repeat 'magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him' whenever she walks past them.  
  
"I will never understand how it feels to be unlike so many others and that is the easiest way for them to judge you," Anora replies at last with steepled fingers and a frown upon her face, "but it could be a tremendous opportunity for your people who have shown that they will fight for their home too."  
  
_Garahel ended the Fourth Blight, he gathered Wardens to him and united kings and teyrns, killed so many none thought this Fifth Blight would take place but still the elves are accorded little_ , she thinks with a ferocity that catches her off guard and mentally shakes herself. Anora meant well. Anora was trying to encourage her. "Hopefully they won't need to see me do magic – if I do, it will be to keep them safe," she answers at last and Anora reaches over to touch her hand.  
  
"No matter what, if you have need of advice or aid, you need only send word and I will help as best I can. Why not stay a time? Having you here will help Alistair to adjust and you have earned your rest after all your endeavours to save us and," Anora smiles and the touch becomes a squeeze, "I would like a chance to know you better before you take up your new post."  
  
"I'd like that," Rhiannon replies, smiling in what she hopes is an encouraging manner. She wonders if this is the end of the conversation but there's seemingly more to say as Anora pours herself another glass of wine, only half full this time and Rhiannon guesses that she probably can't do this often even if she'd like to. Rhiannon knows how good it can feel to just get drunk when it's been a long day, long week, long month, when all seems impossible but it's probably not queenly to imbibe too much. Another thing she'll need to keep watch over.  
  
_Has anything changed?_ She thinks frantically as Anora takes her time to say anything. _Have I changed one cage for another? Judged and on display, still a Mage and now a Grey Warden, someone not wholly trusted even now._ She is used to it. She is used to being looked down upon within the only place she could call home where even the people there thought themselves cursed and in need of someone to take their affliction from them. More than once there were moments when she thought the same, fleeting, slipping through her fingers like lyrium dust but still there, still a little poisonous voice. Now her head is full of them. Being a Mage there is so much to fear. Being who she is, there's even more. There's her fate coming to her, creeping and crawling with a buzzing hum and all those rotting, twisted faces that say: this is you, this is what you will be if you don't die, you'll want this, you'll need it, your flesh ruined and remade. All those nightmares of the Broodmothers where she woke gasping and couldn't bear to share a tent with Zevran where she examined her body with her hands in the dark to reassure herself that all was where it should be. _I am not who I was_.  
  
"They'll want to replace you at some point. To be an Arlessa is to be in a position of prestige – I'm sure you know that," Rhiannon nods to show she does; really she learned a great deal about how Ferelden and other lands worked from books in the Circle and that is precisely why she worries about it. "If something goes wrong, they'll blame you. It can be a rather damned if you do, damned if you don't situation. Some will say that you will always show bias to your Wardens and that if you don't then you're too involved in ruling and trying to control things as you see fit."  
  
"You know you're making this sound more like a punishment than an opportunity." It's impossible to keep her tone level, instead she sounds cynical. Wynne told her she was far too young for that sort of attitude more than once and that it was a certain influence rubbing off on her. She didn't listen to Wynne then and she's not going to listen to her now.  
  
Anora laughs, choking until there are tears in her eyes. " _That's_ how I know you'll do well. Look at what you've accomplished – Mages, a king in Orzammar, the Dalish, bringing a well-respected Arl back from near-death, the army you mustered and the Archdemon you defeated and survived. No one can take that from you."  
  
Rhiannon has always been taught to beware pride and it's the reason she is so critical about herself even though she's always worked hard naturally and is the one who puts pressure upon herself. Whenever anyone says she's done well the pressure increases tenfold to the point that it can be almost crippling because she knows how impossible it is to please everyone. And right now she remembers her failings: Isolde who sacrificed her life and the temptation she couldn't resist because the Wardens take all and she was so scared in those first fearful weeks that anything seemed a good idea. Cullen who looked upon her with soft, almost loving eyes and who reviled her kind with an intensity she hadn't ever expected from him. So much blood on her hands and at her feet. Something must show on her face or in her eyes because Anora calls her name and looks concerned.  
  
"It's just the whispers..." Rhiannon isn't sure where she's going with this, what she wants to say or why she's bringing it up but she knows how destructive a whisper can be: the Fade is rife with them, spreading out across the oily landscape and she's learned to listen but trust them little. This sort of whispering that Anora has already mentioned is something entirely other.  
  
"You will never be free of it. Women are subject to it more than men, or some of us. You may be different, the expectations upon you are not the same as they are for someone like me. I hear what they say: almost thirty and no heir to the throne, almost thirty and not so many years left."  
  
"Maybe it isn't you – you said," she blushes because talking about someone's husband having affairs even when the wife acknowledges it and speaks frankly feels awkward enough to make her squirm as well as that idea where she should not speak ill of the dead, "that he had dalliances?"  
  
"He did." Anora betrays nothing. "There were no bastards that I heard of – either I take it that the fault lies not with me and with him instead or I believe that they were diligent in taking things to prevent a child either before or after. So should I believe in pragmatism and practicality or do I hope?"  
  
"I think you've more than earned hope." And hope Anora will need given that her husband is a Warden and they're not about to be easily blessed with children. She can't tell Anora that. There are things Alistair will need to learn to speak of and only he and Anora can set the tone of their marriage and future. "You're making me think that I can actually do this without being political disaster after political disaster."  
  
It prompts a shared laugh – who would have thought she'd be laughing alone with a queen, sharing expensive wine but more drunk on sweet relief than on the alcohol?  
  
"A shame no one but us will remember this. We'll be remembered for the face – the mask – we display to the world. We're the sum of our accomplishments and triumphs," Anora begins, fingers tapping the stem of her glass.  
  
"And equally the sum of our failures, nothing about us as people unless we're saints or tyrants."  
  
"Andraste was a woman who united barbarians, who led us to freedom and did not volunteer for the flame, who knew the pleasure of the flesh."  
  
"Yet she's prophet and bride of the Maker."  
  
Anora snorts in a manner that's distinctly less than regal. "They'll start forgetting your name. They'll only remember be as daughter to Loghain, wife to Cailan, wife to Alistair and maybe mother to this one or that one."  
  
"They'll remember you as more Anora – you set the policies and economy and look how Ferelden flourishes."  
  
"Then they'll remember you as a young woman who united many to a common purpose."  
  
"If I promise to remember you, will you promise likewise?" Rhiannon asks feeling like a girl in the tower again, swearing with linked pinkies to always be best friends with Jowan.  
  
"A promise from a queen to a hero and from one Fereldan to another," Anora replies trying to look stern and authoritative but failing miserably.  
  
They return to the party when they've managed to stop giggling, wiping their faces to hide the smudges and red eyes the tears caused, Anora taking Alistair's arm and Rhiannon feeling Zevran's hand at the small of her back. At each toast – and there are many, everyone wants to make their mark tonight – Rhiannon meets Anora's eye and raises her glass to her, both of them smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from We Are What You Say by Sufjan Stevens:  
>  _we are the sound working in wars, the bishop is gone to the acolyte shores. we save our bibles, we pull up our sleeves. the word is our guard, and the guard is our cleave. we are the right, we are the stay, the accolade’s gone - we are what you say._ This song really worked well for writing this fic given that Anora is her father's daughter and the Warden has been fighting a Blight.
> 
> This was also meant to be female Warden/Anora at first but then the idea of these two being friends ended up being ultimately much more satisfying.


End file.
